The Marriage Mender

by Linda Green

  ‘Right you are,’ said Barbara.

  ‘And this is the guitar Josh got from Mummy and Daddy,’ said Matilda, pointing to the sofa. ‘Only he’s got another one now, so he doesn’t really need it.’

  I glanced at Chris. He looked like he had been kicked in the stomach.

  ‘Oh,’ said Barbara. ‘Who were other one from, then?’

  Josh looked at me for help.

  ‘Just someone who wanted to pass it on to him,’ I said.

  ‘It was the pretty lady who came to the door yesterday,’ chipped in Matilda. ‘Mummy hid it in the cupboard.’

  Barbara looked at me.

  ‘Lunch,’ I said. ‘Lunch will be ready. I’d better go and get the roast out.’

  They followed me through and sat down at the kitchen table.

  Matilda could always be relied upon to fill any awkward silences with her chatter. Barbara suspected something. I was pretty sure of it. She might have been in her seventies but she was sharp. Pin sharp. She glanced at Chris and Josh intermittently throughout the meal. Tried to engage them in conversation. Josh at least responded to the inquiries about how his GCSE revision was going and whether he’d had any more thoughts about where to do his ‘A’ levels (he was trying to find a sixth form or college which offered music technology, art and history). But Chris remained pretty monosyllabic. There were none of his characteristic wisecracks, no egging Matilda on with her jokes. He didn’t even finish all of his lunch, and roast chicken was his favourite. Always had been.

  ‘Not hungry?’ inquired Barbara as I took Chris’s plate.

  ‘Oh, I’m saving some room for pudding,’ said Chris.

  ‘What’s for pudding?’ asked Matilda.

  ‘Well, it’s a birthday meal, isn’t it?’ I said.

  ‘Cake. Has Josh got a birthday cake? Has it got Smarties or sprinkles on it?’

  ‘He’s got a cake but no sprinkles or Smarties. Plenty of chocolate, mind.’

  Josh smiled at me. You were never too old for chocolate, after all.

  I beckoned Matilda to follow me to the larder, where I unveiled the triple chocolate cake I’d made, meticulously following the recipe I’d found on the internet. We had plenty of cookery books with cake recipes in but they all had pictures with them, and I hated making something which I knew wouldn’t look anything like the picture.

  ‘Wow!’ said Matilda, who thankfully tended to be impressed by pure size rather than aesthetic appeal. ‘That looks yummy.’

  ‘Well, hopefully it will taste yummy as well,’ I said.

  We carried the cake over to the table between us. Matilda started singing ‘Happy Birthday’, and Barbara joined in, despite Josh looking a tad embarrassed. Chris opened and closed his mouth the best he could, but I could barely hear any words coming out. I’d put a number sixteen candle in the middle of the cake. It seemed a bit more grown-up than having sixteen candles.

  ‘Don’t forget to make a wish,’ said Barbara as Josh took a deep breath.

  He closed his eyes as he blew, as if he was still a little kid. I had no idea what he wished for. But I did know that it wasn’t the same as whatever Chris was wishing for at that moment.

  * * *

  Barbara waited until the others had gone into the lounge to say something. She stayed in the kitchen on the pretext of giving me a hand with the teas. But I knew from the look on her face that there was something far more important on her agenda.

  ‘What’s bothering him, Alison?’ she asked.

  She might have been a silver-haired grandmother, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath the surface. I wasn’t going to lie to her. I wasn’t even going to be economical with the truth, as I had been earlier. I figured she was bound to find out sooner or later, and I’d rather it came from me.

  ‘Lydia came to the house yesterday,’ I said quietly. ‘She bought Josh the guitar. The other one. The one upstairs.’

  The colour drained from Barbara’s cheeks. It took her a few moments to compose herself enough to be able to speak. When she did so, her voice was shaky.

  ‘Did she see Josh?’

  ‘No. He was at a friend’s house.’

  ‘Chris saw her, though?’

  I nodded.

  Barbara shook her head. ‘She’s got a nerve.’

  There was a tone in Barbara’s voice that I didn’t recognise. She never usually had a bad word to say about anyone.

  ‘She left a letter for Josh,’ I went on. ‘It was in with his card. She apologised for what she did and said she’d like to meet up with him.’

  ‘Chris isn’t going to let him, surely?’

  ‘He’s sixteen, Barbara. It’s not a matter of letting him.’

  ‘He’s still living under your roof. You can still say no to him. He has no idea what she’s like.’

  ‘But that’s just it. He doesn’t know what she’s like. That’s why he’s curious to meet her.’

  ‘Well, I can tell him exactly what she’s like. Save him a lot of time and heartbreak.’

  Barbara’s permanent smile had disappeared from her face. I noticed her hands were shaking.

  ‘He might not even meet her. He’s still making his mind up about what he wants to do.’

  ‘Don’t be taken in by her, Alison. She can be very charming when she wants to be. But you weren’t there. You didn’t see what she did to Chris. To leave a baby the way she did. No mother worth an ounce of anyone’s sympathy would do that. So don’t you start feeling sorry for her.’

  I was taken aback by her tone of voice. The undeniable strength of feeling.

  ‘I just think it’s important that this is Josh’s decision,’ I said. ‘And that we all support him along the way.’

  ‘What about Matilda?’

  ‘She doesn’t know who the woman was.’

  ‘But she saw her?’

  I nodded.

  ‘She ruined Chris’s life once,’ Barbara said. ‘Don’t let her do it again. No good will ever come of that woman. No good at all.’

  She picked two mugs of tea up, her hands still shaking, and took them silently out of the kitchen.

  I have no idea why he said it, but we were in the middle of having sex – that means about three minutes into it, in his case – and I was going through the motions, as usual. I mean, he has no idea I fake it. I’ve watched that restaurant scene in When Harry Met Sally enough times to know how to do it well.

  Anyway, he suddenly put on the voice of that old-fashioned motor-racing commentator in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and said, ‘She’s here, she’s here. She’s coming, she’s coming.’

  And the worst part about it was that he actually thought it was funny. Roared with laughter afterwards. And I just knew that I would never even be able to fake it with him again.

  3

  ‘Where’s Daddy?’ asked Matilda as she sat down at the kitchen table.

  ‘He had to go to work early.’

  ‘Ohhh … I wanted to play with him.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll play with you later, when he comes home.’

  ‘Will you play with us too?’ she asked Josh.

  ‘Depends what you’re playing,’ he said, before taking a bite of his toast.

  ‘What do you want to play?’ asked Matilda.

  ‘My guitar.’

  ‘OK. You play that, then,’ she said. ‘And I’ll play the one Mummy and Daddy got you. We can pretend we’re in a band. Daddy can be the singer.’

  Josh smiled at her. They might only be half-siblings but it was hard sometimes to imagine them being any closer. Matilda knew that Josh had a different mum, of course. Knew that he couldn’t remember her and that she’d had to go away and no one knew where she was. She could handle that. But Lydia turning up and being a real person, a real mum who wasn’t her mum, someone who could come between her and Josh, that was another matter entirely.

  If I had to tell her, I would. But not until Josh had made up his mind. And when I did tell her, I wanted to do it in the right way. Not five min
utes before she left for school on a Monday morning.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked Josh when Matilda ran upstairs a little later to get her uniform on.

  ‘Yeah. Why shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Just checking, that’s all. It’s been a pretty big weekend.’

  Josh shrugged.

  ‘Well, if you need to talk about anything –’

  ‘Yeah, I know. You’re a registered counsellor.’

  I smiled at him. ‘Just remember that, unlike my clients, you don’t need an appointment.’

  Josh shook his head, took a last gulp of tea and stood up. ‘See you later, then,’ he said on the way out of the kitchen.

  ‘Give your sister a shout for me, please.’

  ‘Tilda, the house is on fire!’

  ‘Thank you, Josh,’ I called after him, before he slammed the front door behind him.

  Had the house really been on fire, it appeared Matilda would have been content to be fried alive rather than curtail the impromptu puppet show she was staging on the landing. I had to go upstairs and physically remove the puppets from her hands before she reluctantly came downstairs. Her school polo shirt was a bit crumpled, and her skirt was skew-whiff, but as there was nothing new about either of these scenarios I decided to let them go.

  When she got to the hall, I pulled the brush through her long brown hair half a dozen times, popped her hairband in (I had long ago informed her that, as neither I nor her father were capable of plaits and I still had nightmares about the religiously straight fringe I’d had as a child, hairbands were the only option in the hair-styling department) and we were ready to go.

  It was a fifteen-minute walk to the village school in Midgley, along country lanes and footpaths. There was only one road to cross outside the school, which had a lollipop man called George in attendance. No doubt it wouldn’t be long before Matilda wanted to do the walk on her own but, for now, it was a precious part of our day. A chance to talk and enjoy the outdoors together. Or a chance to be talked at, at least, while she rather brutally picked the heads off dandelions.

  ‘Will I get an iPad when I’m sixteen?’ Matilda asked, as she swung her book bag in the air.

  ‘I don’t know. They’ll probably have something new out by then, iPads will be a thing of the past.’

  ‘How old were you when you had one?’

  I laughed. ‘Er, I still haven’t got one, actually. Hadn’t you noticed?’

  Matilda looked at me aghast. ‘Shall I get you one for Christmas? I can start saving up my pocket money.’

  ‘Thank you, love, but there’s no need.’

  ‘Oh. Is it because you’re old?’ asked Matilda.

  ‘Charming.’ I laughed. ‘Daddy’s older than me, and he’s got one.’

  ‘So you just don’t want one?’

  ‘I can think of things I’d rather have.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. There are lots of books I’d like, for a start.’

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll get you a book instead.’ And with that she skipped off ahead of me, picking up two yellow leaves which had fallen and immediately turning them into hand puppets.

  Life was good for Matilda. Life was straightforward. The way it should be when you are eight years old.

  * * *

  ‘So did Josh have a good birthday?’ asked Debbie when the playground melee had finally dispersed and I found myself standing next to her among the other mums at the school gates.

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘You don’t sound too sure.’

  ‘It wasn’t quite as we’d planned,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’ asked Debbie.

  I beckoned to her to start walking back with me. I’d never been one to discuss the ins and outs of my private life at the school gates. That was one thing I’d learnt quickly about living in a village. Debbie was different from the rest of the mums, though. I’d known her since Matilda and Debbie’s daughter Sophie had been tiny. I knew I could trust her.

  ‘Chris’s ex turned up,’ I said. ‘Josh’s mum.’

  Debbie stared at me. ‘I thought she was long gone.’

  ‘She was. Until Saturday, at least.’

  ‘So did she see him?’

  ‘No, fortunately he was at his friend’s when she called. She left a letter and a present for him. An electric guitar.’

  ‘But isn’t that what you were getting him?’

  I nodded. ‘Yeah. Only this one was better.’

  ‘Jesus. I bet Chris was happy.’

  ‘He’s been very quiet since.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Must have been a hell of a shock. What did she look like? Is she older than you?’

  ‘Yeah, a few years, I think. Not that you could tell. She’s stunning, to be honest.’

  Debbie stopped and looked at me. ‘You don’t think she wants to get back with him?’

  I laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Well, even if she does, Chris hates her. I mean, really hates her. He didn’t even want us to give Josh the present.’

  ‘But you did?’

  ‘Yeah. Of course.’

  ‘And does Josh want to see her?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s pretty mixed up about it, but I think the guitar swung it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t let her anywhere near him.’

  I looked across at Debbie. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘She’s your husband’s ex, she’s Josh’s mum and she’s stunning. It’s a no-brainer.’

  ‘And what about Josh,’ I asked. ‘Hasn’t he got a right to see her?’

  She looked straight at me. ‘You’re his mum,’ she said. ‘Maybe not biologically but in every way that matters. He doesn’t need her. He’s done pretty well for sixteen years without her, and that’s down to Chris and you.’

  ‘But doesn’t she have the right to see him?’

  ‘She lost that right the day she walked out on him. Get shot of her, Ali. Or get Chris to do it, if you’re too bloody nice to.’

  * * *

  The new couple walked into my room. Awkward didn’t begin to go anywhere near. Sometimes it was actually painful to watch people. They wore their anguish on their faces, in the tortured movement of their limbs. Some would seemingly rather walk across hot coals in bare feet than be entering my room, about to bare their souls.

  It was a close call but, of the two of them, he looked more apprehensive. It didn’t surprise me. He was of a certain age. One thing you learnt pretty quickly was that men over sixty were probably the least comfortable discussing their emotions. And yet the expression on her face suggested she hadn’t dragged him here against his will either. She was trying hard to smile through the pain, but there was no doubt that was what it was.

  I smiled at them. My comforting, reassuring ‘It’s OK, I’m not going to eat you’ smile. I pushed a strand of loose hair back behind my ear and extended my hand to each of them in turn.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Crossley, pleased to meet you. I’m Alison Bentley. Is it OK if I call you by your first names?’

  They both nodded. I gestured to them to take a seat. Bob let her sit down first, then pulled his grey slacks up slightly as he lowered himself into the easy chair.

  ‘Now, I’ve had a look through the notes my colleague passed on, so I know a bit about the background to this. But I’d like to go through it with you, to make sure you’re happy with everything and we’re all agreed about how things stand.’

  I looked up. Neither of them said anything. I carried on.

  ‘Right. So you’ve been married thirty-six years and have one daughter, Cassie, who’s thirty-three.’

  I glanced up and saw Jayne swallow. Bob nodded, so I continued.

  ‘You’ve both recently retired – Bob from your job as a sales rep and Jayne from yours as a part-time hotel receptionist. You say the problems in your relationship mainly stem from your daughter’s decision to emigrate to Australia.’

  Jayne started crying. Small tears
that rolled delicately down her cheeks and plopped on to her pleated skirt. Bob shifted in his seat for a moment, took a tissue from the box on the table between them and leant forward to pass it to her. Jayne took it, removed her glasses and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Please, don’t apologise for crying in here. I’m used to it. It’s why the tissues are there. I understand that this is really difficult for you. Take all the time you need.’

  She sniffed, a small, delicate sniff, and dabbed at her eyes some more. I glanced at Bob. He was looking down at his hands, his shoulders hunched. I waited a while longer.

  ‘Are you OK for me to go on?’

  Jayne nodded and put her glasses back on.

  I turned to Bob. ‘When did Cassie announce she was going to emigrate?’

  He cleared his throat before speaking. ‘Two months ago. She met a chappie from Sydney, see. Through work, it were. Always been a bit of a career girl, our Cassie. Never thought she’d want to settle down. Never thought she’d go off to another country either, but there you go.’

  ‘And understandably you’ve both found that really hard,’ I said. ‘Have you been able to talk to each other about how you feel?’

  Bob opened his mouth to say something and then looked down at his hands again.

  ‘It’s not Bob’s fault. It’s me who can’t talk about it,’ said Jayne. ‘It’s me who’s finding it difficult. That’s why we’re here.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Are you able to explain how it’s made you feel?’

  She looked down at the tissue, which was scrunched up in her hands. ‘Empty,’ she said. ‘Bereft, really.’

  I nodded. ‘Thank you, Jayne. And Bob, no doubt you’ve found this tough too.’

  ‘I’ve done everything I can,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t seem to be enough, though. I’m at a loss to know what to do.’ He shrugged.

  Jayne started crying again.

  Sometimes people came to me and they behaved so badly towards each other that, if they were characters in books, I really wouldn’t have cared if they stayed together or not. I still helped them, of course, I was always professional. But, if I was brutally honest, I didn’t have too much invested in it. And other times couples came to see me and I knew, during that very first appointment, that I would move heaven and earth to try to help them sort things out.